


To Want and Not to Have

by withthekeyisking



Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Mind Control, Mutual Pining, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Jason Todd, Self-Esteem Issues, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26189014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/pseuds/withthekeyisking
Summary: Dick and Jason are most assuredly not dating, despite what it might look like to others. So what if they hang out all the time and trust each other with everything? So what if they'd rather spend time with each other than anyone else?They're notdating.Unfortunately, the perpetrator of their most recent case didn't get the memo.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 47
Kudos: 717





	To Want and Not to Have

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Morimaitar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morimaitar/gifts), [RUNNFROMTHEAK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/gifts), [epistemology](https://archiveofourown.org/users/epistemology/gifts), [LuthienLuinwe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/gifts).



> 💜💜💜💜
> 
> Title from _To the Lighthouse_ by Virginia Woolf

There's someone in Dick's apartment.

He knows it the second he enters, already reaching into his bag for the spare wingdings he keeps there, muscles tightening in preparation for a fight.

Then he registers the quiet hiss of his stovetop burner coming from the kitchen, the faint crunch of vegetables being chopped, and he drops out of his defensive position with a huffed laugh. He sets his bag down and closes the front door behind him, kicking his shoes off and hanging his coat on the hook next to the leather jacket he now recognizes.

"You know," Dick says as he makes his way to his kitchen, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, "you could let me _know_ when you're planning on coming over. So that I don't, y'know, have a heart attack when I hear someone in my apartment. The breaking and entering really isn't necessary."

Jason is standing by the counter, one of Dick's kitchen knives held confidently in his hand as he cuts up an onion in perfect julienne. He glances back at Dick over his shoulder, a smirk curving his lips, knife not faltering.

"Necessary? No," Jason admits. "Fun? Absolutely."

"What are you making?" Dick asks. The kitchen smells amazing, whatever is in those pots on the stove making his stomach rumble despite the fact that he'd already gotten a bite to eat before coming home. Jason's cooking has a tendency to do that; while he's no Alfred, he certainly took to Alfred's lessons far better than any of the rest of them did.

"Bucatini with spinach, bacon, and a creamy parmesan sauce," Jason informs him, and Dick's eyebrows quirk up.

"Sounds fancy," he says. "What's the occasion?"

"It's not fancy," Jason disagrees, but doesn't explain why he's here.

Dick lets it go, moving over to the fridge to grab a soda. He perches on one of the stools at the kitchen island and rolls his neck, wincing as it cracks. He's had something of a long day; one of his coworkers called out sick and so he took over some of her classes, which meant he was in back-to-back lessons from eight in the morning to six pm, and spending that much time around excitable children is exhausting, despite how much he loves his job.

Getting to enjoy a home cooked meal sounds like a really great way to end the day, actually.

This isn't the first time Jason's cooked him dinner, nor the first time Dick's come home to find Jason already there, having picked the lock on his window or—if he's feeling particularly adventurous—the front door.

And to be fair to Jason's clear lack of boundaries, it's not like Dick is any better. He's made a game of finding which safehouse Jason is staying in at any given point and showing up there randomly, usually bearing gifts in the form of movies Jason's never seen or take-out from some of their favorite places.

It's just something they do, and despite how Jason grumbles when Dick pops up and how Dick complains about Jason's lack of warning, it's always without heat. It's always...fun.

Dick lets the comfortable silence remain, watching Jason as the younger man goes about preparing their meal, enjoying how he looks just as confident and in control cooking in Dick's tiny kitchen as he does out in the field with a gun in his hand. Just as effortlessly elegant.

 _The duality of man,_ Dick had once joked, and Jason had rolled his eyes so hard Dick thought they might get stuck that way.

His stomach grumbles loudly when Jason places a plate in front of him, the sight of the food making his mouth water, and Jason huffs a laugh when Dick immediately digs in.

"You're ridiculous," Jason tells him, far more calmly taking a bite from his own plate. "How is it that you _always_ manage to eat like you've been starving for months?"

"Just for your food, Jaybird," Dick says with a wink, and Jason scowls at him, but his cheeks take on a faint dusting of red.

They don't talk much while they eat, something peaceful settling over them. Dick's usually a talker, filling the space between him and the people around him, but there's something about being around Jason that makes Dick not feel the need to do that. He knows Jason won't judge him if he doesn't speak a word, won't judge him if he isn't at 100% energy while they hang out.

There's something very...freeing in that, in not feeling like he has to bridge the gap, make conversation. Jason is here, and will stay. It is just as simple and as complicated as that.

"So," Dick says after they've finished eating, "this a social call or a work thing?"

He snatches up the plates before Jason can, taking them over to the sink to wash, and can't resist an amused snort when he sees Jason's disgruntled expression out of the corner of his eye.

"Bit of both," Jason replies, and Dick mouths along as he says it, familiar with the rhythm of these things by now. 90% of the time, that's what Jason says.

Just like 90% of the time, Dick replies, "Well don't leave me hanging."

"I've been working this case, and signs point to it having branched out of Gotham and into Blud; thought it only fair to let you know I'll be working on your turf."

Dick rolls his eyes. _"'Working on my turf'_ like I'm not gonna butt in and help you anyway."

A file drops onto the counter beside Dick and he glances over at it in surprise, then up to Jason's face. Jason is smirking at him, blue-green eyes shining with amusement, white and black hair curling slightly against his forehead. The sight of him takes Dick's breath away.

He shakes himself, head jerking back down to look at the plate and sponge in his hands.

"I figured you'd say that," Jason says, "so _this_ time I came prepared with the info; I don't feel like having you stalk me through the city just to find out more about my case."

"One time," Dick mutters. "That happened _one time."_

Jason laughs under his breath, a quiet but _real_ sound, and it makes something warm glow in Dick's chest. Jason very rarely lets his guard down around people, and Dick is honored to consider himself on that list.

"Look it over," Jason says. He steps up beside Dick and picks up the wet plate Dick had already washed, reaching for a towel and then beginning to dry. "Let me know if you've seen anything the last few days that might match up."

Dick hums an agreement, glancing at the younger man out of the corner of his eye. It's so... _domestic._ It makes Dick tense up.

Jason looks at him, frowning. "You okay?"

"Fine," Dick says, offering the best smile he can manage. It must not be up to his usual standards because Jason's frown deepens. "Just tired. Really long day."

"I should get out of your hair, then," Jason offers, shifting away, and Dick bites back the instinctive request for him to stay.

"Thanks for the food," he says instead. "It was really good."

Jason rolls his eyes, but as he turns away Dick catches sight of the pleased look on his face. "It was nothin'. Text me tomorrow, let me know your thoughts on the case."

"You got it," Dick says, and then Jason is gone, door closing behind him with a strange feeling of finality.

Dick sighs, hanging his head; God, he's pathetic. So fucking pathetic.

It's been about six months since Dick first realized he has feelings for Jason. Six months since they were on patrol and came across a little girl who couldn't find her mother. Six months since Dick watched Jason take off his helmet and smile kindly, make a few jokes to get the girl laughing, and then carry the girl in his arms until they located the mother. Six months since Dick looked at Jason and had the strongest urge to kiss him.

Six months has not lessened the feeling, unfortunately. Made it worse, more like, especially considering how much time they spend together. Which Dick wouldn't trade for _anything,_ even if it kills him every time he has to watch Jason leave. Even if it kills him to have Jason so very close and yet miles and miles away.

Dick would never try to start anything between them. Not only would it completely ruin their friendship if Dick were to confess his feelings, but Jason also doesn't deserve to have Dick's baggage put on him. Despite how good Dick is at pretending otherwise, his life is something of a mess. _He_ is something of a mess. A mix of unresolved trauma and atrocious habits and a near-suicidal need to throw himself into every line of fire, all of it stitched together in a pattern that no one would actually like, if he truly let them see.

He knows better, by this point. He's loved and lost too many times to think he has any chance of an actual relationship, let alone with someone he actually— cares about. What he has right now with Jason is good. Their friendship is _good._ He's lucky to have it, and he won't do anything to ruin it, if he can help it.

No, things are good like this. They'll simply have to be good enough.

* * *

Jason thanks the woman at the counter, accepting the coffees she offers and tucking the bag with the bagels under his arm. It's a bit awkward, having to keep his arm specifically in position to make sure nothing drops, but it's only a short walk to Dick's apartment from here, so he'll be fine.

The elevator in the building is still busted, so Jason turns for the stairs, beginning the trek up to the fifth floor; well, at least he can count this as his workout for the day.

He knocks on Dick's door with his foot, not having a free hand to pick the lock like he normally would—just to see that exasperated look on Dick's face—and then thirty second later the door is opening.

Dick is squinting at him, clearly still half-asleep. His hair is sticking up in a million different directions and there's a pillow crease on one of his cheeks. He's wearing his Superman pajama pants, and is shirtless. Jason averts his eyes before he can begin to stare.

"Jay?" Dick asks. His eyes flick past Jason, scanning for something—maybe a threat, maybe another member of their family, Jason doesn't think it matters—before locking back onto Jason's face. "What are you doing here?"

Jason offers the coffee and Dick takes it automatically before blinking down at it in confusion. It's a little adorable.

"You gonna let me in?"

Dick blinks at him, and then steps silently to the side, allowing Jason to enter. The apartment looks exactly the same it did last night, no shocker there, though the daylight makes the clutter more obvious. Despite how organized Dick is when it comes to casework, that really doesn't translate over to his personal life.

When Jason turns back to Dick, he finds the older man rubbing his eyes, taking a long drink of coffee despite how hot it still must be. Jason can't help the way his gaze drops down to his throat, watching him swallow, before forcefully looking away, staring at the photos on Dick's wall with determination.

"So," Dick says, eyebrows going up slightly in prompting for more information.

"You texted me after you got off patrol asking me to come over in the morning," Jason says.

That is not, strictly speaking, true. Dick _did_ text him after he got off patrol letting him know that he'd read through the file and they should meet up to talk about it sometime that day, but he didn't tell Jason to come over first thing. But, semantics. Jason's been up since six, running on about three hours' sleep, and this case has been stuck just under his skin for a couple weeks now. He's antsy to move forward on it.

"Right," Dick says, nodding, but it's clear he's just agreeing for the sake of agreeing, that he doesn't actually remember yet. That's alright, Jason wasn't expecting anything else, not at eight in the morning; on Dick's days off he is _really_ not a morning person. Jason might feel slightly guilty about waking him up if not for the case.

"So what've you got?" Jason asks.

Dick takes a long drag from his cup as he walks into the living room, casually vaulting over the couch like it's nothing and picking up some papers that rest on his coffee table.

"I found some deaths here that match up with yours back in Gotham," Dick says, and then offers Jason the papers he's holding. They're autopsy reports with pictures included, and the sight of the human-shaped husks disturbs Jason just as much as it did the first time he saw these a few weeks back when he first caught wind of this case.

"It's like they've been sucked dry," Dick muses.

When Jason glances up at him, he sees the older one looking thoughtfully down at the photo currently on top. The autopsy report names the individual as Mary Williams, forty-three years old, only identifiable by her dental records. Dick's right about the victims looking _sucked dry;_ the skin is gray and sunken, barely more than skeletons at this point. Like all forms of life had been drained right out of them.

"Yeah," Jason agrees on a sigh. "Damn, I was really hoping I was wrong." Dick gives him a quizzical look. "About whoever's doing this coming to Bludhaven, I mean. So much harder to catch once they start moving."

"You think they figured out you were on their trail?" Dick asks. "Having a vigilante after them could've made them want to move."

Jason shrugs a shoulder. "Maybe. I mean, there were ten deaths all like this in Gotham, they had to know they were gonna get noticed eventually. It's not like this is _subtle."_

Dick chuckles, nodding. "It certainly isn't. I started looking into the victims, trying to see what they have in common that might've made them targets, but I really had to get some sleep so I didn't get very far in the research."

"The ones back in Gotham didn't really have any ties," Jason tells him. "A few six-degrees-of-separation-type stuff, but nothing concrete."

Dick hums, rubbing his eyes. "Right," he says, and stifles a yawn. "Well, I'd still like to check that route, just in case. Better to cover all our bases, right?"

"Always be prepared—not just the Boy Scout motto, but the Bat one, too."

Dick laughs, blue eyes alight with mirth, and Jason's stomach flips. He resists the urge to scowl at himself, knowing Dick would think the irritation is directed at him instead of at Jason's own stupid emotions.

Raking a hand through his hair and pushing it back into some form of order, Dick says, "I'm glad you agree, then. Okay, I'm gonna take a shower and get dressed, then we can get to work. Feel free to make yourself at home."

He turns away, heading for the hall that leads to his bedroom, and Jason sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes widening at what he sees on Dick's back.

It's a _boot print,_ not a small one, either. It's dark purple and angry red, clear enough that Jason can even see the groves of the boot, the exact shape of where it slammed into Dick.

"Jesus," Jason hisses, "what _happened_ to you?"

Dick glances back at him, blinking, and then understanding dawns when he sees where Jason's attention is.

"I'm okay," he says.

"There's a fucking _boot print_ on your back, Dick, I wouldn't quite call that _okay."_

Dick's lips curve up in a gentle smile. Jason's stomach flips again. "I was in a fight with a bunch of guys on patrol, one of them got a good hit in to my head which sent me down to the ground, and another slammed his foot down on my back in an attempt to keep me down." The gentle smile transforms into a smirk. "He was unsuccessful, of course."

Jason swallows back his anger, at the men responsible, and his desperation, towards Dick. Desperation to pull him into his arms, and really feel that he's okay. Desperation to take care of him, today and always.

Instead, he turns away, heading back towards the front door to take off his shoes and jacket. "'Course," Jason agrees, because Dick's right. He's fine. Everything is _fine._ "Go take your shower."

There are a few moments of silence, and then Jason hears Dick pad down the hall, the bathroom door clicking shut behind him.

Jason sighs, rubbing a hand across his face; God, he's such an idiot. A sentimental, pining, ridiculous _idiot._

He shouldn't have come here. He thinks it every time he does, how much he should leave, how he shouldn't force himself into Dick's life as thoroughly as he has. He's playing with fire, spending as much time with Dick as he does. He's practically _begging_ to get burned, to get found out. He's greedy and selfish, coveting Dick's time like it's something precious.

Well. It _is_ something precious. _Dick_ is something precious. And Jason is...Jason.

He tried to keep his distance, in the beginning. When things were first starting to become okay between him and the family again, and Dick reached out to spend time with him. To get to know him as the person he is, instead of the boy he used to be.

Jason _tried,_ dammit. He tried to stay away, to keep Dick at arm's length. But despite how he is not that fifteen-year-old Robin anymore, he still carries that boy's gigantic crush on Dick Grayson. Has for many years, and it doesn't seem like it's going to be going away any time soon.

It's why he shouldn't be here, why he shouldn't keep turning up and making Dick food and watching movies with him and inviting him to join in on his cases. It's why he should leave Gotham for a while until he can get this under control, can let Dick understand how much better his life would be without Jason forcing his way in like a parasite.

But Jason is greedy. He is selfish. He wants to be around Dick, wants to make him smile and laugh, wants to hear his corny jokes and help patch him up after patrol. He wants to be _with_ him.

But Jason is also broken, in so many ways. In more ways than he will ever let anyone know. Dick doesn't deserve to have Jason force his bullshit on him. Dick deserves so much better.

And yet Jason can never get himself to leave, his feet always carrying him back to Dick no matter how hard he tries to walk away.

Maybe someday Dick will wise up and tell him to back off, will put some boundaries in place and truly expect them to be followed. But until that day, Jason is going to soak up as much of Dick's sunlight as he possibly can.

The sound of the bathroom door opening jolts Jason back into awareness, and he scowls at himself for just having been standing there like an idiot, pining after someone he'll never have.

He moves over to the couch and sits down, leafing through Dick's papers on the coffee table; it really is so strange to look from his messy apartment to how perfectly orderly everything here is, laid out in sections in a system that is instantly understandable and pretty clever. It makes it easy for Jason to really read through all of the reports Dick compiled; the victims and possible-victims and reports of crimes that match the MO and the details mentioned in the file Jason brought over the night before.

It's all very impressive, and Jason can't help but be proud when he reads some of Dick's scribbled notes that compliment Jason's research.

He hears Dick approach, and this time the older man moves around the couch like a normal person instead of going over it. He's dressed now, in nice jeans and a t-shirt, hair neatly combed into place. He looks good. Jason looks away.

Dick sits down next to him and offers him a brief smile before pulling out his laptop and setting it on a free spot on the table about halfway between them, making it easy for them to both see.

"Okay, so," Dick says, back straightening as he shifts fully into case-mode. "Why don't we start with vocation?"

* * *

Most of the research Dick and Jason do leads to nothing, none of the victims having any strong ties to each other just like in Gotham. It definitely raises the question of how the person doing this is choosing their targets, and the complete lack of information leaves Dick feeling uneasy.

So, after Jason takes off, citing something he has to do and offering a promise to meet up that night, Dick heads towards the address of the most recent victim. Doing this during the day is definitely risky, but he's too wound up to be able to wait until nighttime.

He's careful to not be noticed, sneaking in through the back door of Andrew St. James' house. He doesn't really know what he expects to find, but he was trained to be thorough, and there are always things to be found out in someone's home. Secrets get far more careless when in the privacy of a bedroom, and Dick's no stranger to riffling through someone's personal belongings to find what he needs.

Sure, it's a little morbid at times, but he's pretty desensitized to it by this point of his life.

He goes through Andrew's office first, sitting at the desk and examining the objects on top of it, trying to understand Andrew as a person and not just a victim. He has awards up on his walls, accomplishment in various sports and a small trophy off to the side that looks like it's for some sort of academic competition. He has a gigantic bookshelf, filled with all sorts of different genres, and Dick's lips quirk up in a small, rueful smile; Andrew St. James seems like he was a very interesting person.

Dick heads for the bedroom next, ignoring the feeling that hits him as he steps through the threshold, the feeling that this isn't a place for him. This is someone's inner sanctum, their most private place. Dick tries to be respectful of that, examining all he can with his hands behind his back, only touching what he really has to in order to look through everything.

There's nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that pops out as to why Andrew would've been targeted in such a unique way.

Maybe they really are random selections, the person responsible just grabbing whoever they want. But the way these people are dying—it is too specific, too _strange,_ for Dick to easily accept that the victims are randomly chosen.

With a sigh, Dick turns for the door, knowing he isn't going to find anything useful in the dead man's bedroom. He heads down the stairs and through the dining room into the living room, and then pulls up short, blinking in surprise.

Sitting on the couch is a woman. She's perfectly relaxed, one arm extended over the back of the couch, the hand of her other resting on her knee, legs crossed. She wears a deep red dress, silk and slinky and far more fitting for a red-carpet event than hanging out in this middle-class house in the suburbs of Bludhaven. Her pitch-black hair falls in perfect waves over her shoulder, and when she looks at him he's struck by her icy, pale blue eyes.

"Hello," the woman greets, a sharp smirk fixed to her lips. Her head tilts as she looks him up and down, and her smirk grows slightly. "Aren't you a surprise."

Dick knows what Mrs. St. James looks like from going through Andrew's entire history, and this woman is _definitely_ not her. She's beautiful, but she's also dangerous, Dick can tell. In the small of his back he has a knife and in his jacket pocket he has a taser, and he reminds himself of their presence as he lifts his chin.

"Who are you?" he asks.

The woman hums thoughtfully. "That," she says on a breath, "is a very good question, Richard. I suppose there are multiple answers."

Oh, great. She knows his name. That's not creepy or anything. "What would you consider the most accurate answer?"

The question seems to amuse the woman. "Hm. At the moment? I suppose I'm...Ambrose." Then she looks pleased. "Yes, there we are. I'm Ambrose. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Richard."

Dick isn't really sure where to go from here. So far she hasn't done anything threatening, but her presence is _extremely_ suspicious, as is everything about her. Dick isn't one to believe in coincidences, putting her involvement in the deaths at highly likely. And if she _is_ the one responsible, the fact that she's showing herself to him right now is certainly concerning.

Well, might as well go for the direct route.

"Did you kill Andrew St. James and all the others killed like him?"

"Ah, so it _is_ you poking your nose into places you shouldn't be. I thought so, you carry that _stench_ with you despite it not belonging to you. Dreadful stuff. You should be more careful about whose company you keep."

 _Stench?_ The company he keeps? What is she talking about?

"Did you kill them or not?" Dick asks firmly.

Ambrose rolls her eyes, but somehow manages to make it seem classy. "Alright, fine, if we must take this route. _Yes,_ Richard I killed them. I didn't _mean_ to, mind you, but sometimes these things happen."

Dealing with someone so completely blasé about murder and clearly possessing a theme makes him think back to his Gotham days, and it gives him a headache. Bludhaven is crime-filled and just about as dirty as you can be, but at least it's mainly filled with _normal_ criminals. Mobsters and thieves, cops on the take, that kind of thing. Not...this.

"If you didn't mean to kill them, what did you mean to do?" Dick asks next.

Ambrose smiles sweetly at him, and it makes Dick's shoulders tense at how threatening it feels. "You're so curious," she says. "That's a good quality to have, Richard, curiosity. A sign of a sharp mind. I rather like sharp minds. That's why we're having this _chat,_ after all."

Dick's pulse skyrockets. That really doesn't sound good for him. He offers a charming smile nonetheless. "Always nice to be noticed, but I'm afraid I'm spoken for, so—"

"No you're not," Ambrose murmurs. Her blue eyes are cutting now, sharp enough to pierce stone, and it has Dick frozen in place, chest tight with anxiety. "No, you wish you were, but you're not. Poor thing, unrequited love is such a horrible ailment. Especially when you've already handled so much heartbreak, hm?"

It takes Dick a few seconds longer than it should to manage to get out a response. "I don't know what you're—"

"Talking about?" Ambrose finishes, smiling in amusement again. "No, of course not. You're _strong,_ aren't you? Always the leader, always in control, always on top of everything. You're not vulnerable enough to have your _heart broken,_ nor naïve enough to fall for someone you know you can't have. You're _powerful,_ so far above those things. Ah, the things you all tell yourselves to sleep at night."

All of Dick's instincts are screaming _Danger! Danger!_ but he can't move, he can't do anything but listen. He doesn't know why she's saying these things, how she _knows_ these things, but it's not good. He has to get out of here, far, _far_ away from her, has to call Jason and tell him what's happening.

Ambrose gets gracefully to her feet, and Dick jolts, finally finding the ability to move.

He gets as far as a single half-step back before Ambrose drawls, "Stay."

The word echoes in Dick's bones, bounces around his mind, freezes his limbs. He's too hot and too cold all at the same time, and he can hear his pulse in his ears as his heart beats a mile a minute. Magic, it has to be. That's really not good—

Ambrose slowly begins to stalk towards him. "Your friend really was giving me a lot of trouble, you know. Messing up my hard work back in your sister city. I wanted to pay him a visit, talk to him much like I'm talking to you, but as soon as I approached..."

She comes to a stop at about arm's length from Dick and tuts, shaking her head. Her black hair swishes with the movement.

"I could _smell_ it, that aura that clings to the Red Hood. Dreadful, dreadful stuff, don't you think? I don't know how you can stand it."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Dick demands, because he highly doubts she means Jason had a bad case of BO.

"Hm, right," Ambrose says, tilting her head. She's looking at him like he's a bug under a microscope. "You're completely human, you can't sense it, my mistake. I forget these things sometimes. I'm _talking about_ the fact that your friend has not only died and come back to life, but he's been kissed by the waters of the Lazarus Pit. It makes talking to him..." She runs her tongue across her teeth, _"Challenging,_ I suppose."

"Talking," Dick echoes. "Is that what's happening here? We're just _talking?"_

Ambrose smiles at him, the same condescending look one gives a dog performing a neat trick; fond, but still overall superior.

"You really are a lovely surprise," she says, ignoring his question. "I've been trying so hard to find a worthy candidate but all of them burn out so quickly. But _you,_ you're Nightwing, aren't you? Skilled, fit, clever—yes, you could handle it. You're the best of the bunch. Why didn't I consider going after a hero before this? You all are at your peak, physically and mentally. Mm-mm, _Bludhaven's protector._ Yes, you'll do nicely. I have faith in you."

"While that offer sounds _great,"_ Dick says, "I really must decline. Places to be, people to talk to—"

Ambrose's eyes begin to glow, the ice blue turning otherworldly. Dick's words cut off, freezing in his throat and choking him. His head starts to pound. His ears pop.

"Oh yes," Ambrose murmurs, "you really _will_ do nicely, won't you? I suppose we'll see how long you survive. You're strong, your will is so sharp I can almost _taste_ it—oh yes, lovely Richard, you'll do nicely indeed. And the fact that it will hurt the Red Hood is certainly a bonus."

Dick's vision blurs. He feels something inside of him ripping apart, something cold and tingly flooding through his veins. His lungs still. His heart ceases to beat.

Everything explodes in white.

* * *

Jason is irritated.

He and Dick agreed on a time and place to meet up before he left Dick's apartment this morning. They were going to do half a patrol, investigate the case a little more, and then finish off the patrol if possible. They _agreed,_ and Jason was exactly where he needed to be right on time.

And yet fifteen minutes have passed and Dick is nowhere in sight.

Dick's been late to meetings a few times in the years Jason's known him, usually because he got caught up with something important and had to push off going to where he needed to be. So that's probably what happened this time, too.

It doesn't mean Jason has to like it.

At twenty minutes, he calls Dick and receives no response. That is when he decides he's done waiting; he sends out a line and jumps from the roof, heading in the direction of Dick's apartment building.

But Dick isn't there. Jason searches the whole place—not that it's very big to begin with—and finds not a single sign of the older man. Which is...slightly concerning.

He calls Dick again. Still, no answer.

"Screw it," Jason mutters. He heads into Dick's bedroom and right for the hidden panel in the closet that conceals all of his Nightwing equipment. He ignores the suit and the weapons and instead grabs the laptop, opening it up and pulling up the tracking program.

Dick's beacon is offline, which isn't unusual considering he isn't wearing his suit, but so is his cellphone's GPS. However, the tracker on one of Dick's charged weapons shows it out in the city instead of in the closet where it should be. Jason would bet that means Dick is with it.

God bless Bat paranoia, putting trackers on even the smallest of shit.

Jason closes everything back up and leaves, heading back across the roofs to where he left his bike. He kicks the engine to life and takes off, zooming through the streets towards the location of Dick's taser. If Dick's not in trouble he's going to _kill_ him for being such a jackass. And if Dick _is_ in trouble—

Well, then whoever is responsible for putting Dick in trouble has one hell of a surprise coming their way.

The tracker leads Jason into the nicer part of Bludhaven, all the way to an expensive building. The ground floor seems to be some kind of fancy restaurant, and above that are apartments. The tracker is precise enough to tell him it's in the top three floors, but from there he's on his own.

The elevator beeps angrily at him when he tries to press a button for anything in the top ten floors, and he scowls, pulling off the electronic board and setting about hacking it; it's not like this system was built to stand up to vigilante skill, and it's only a few seconds before Jason is on his way to the eighteenth floor, the first of the top three.

He moves slowly, one hand on his holstered weapon, the other on the tracker in his hand. He gets as close to the little dot as he can manage, but when he finds nothing there, he heads right back for the elevator and goes up a floor.

Again, nothing. It makes something in Jason tighten with anxiety; he has to find Dick. Not finding Dick isn't an option. He will move literal heaven and hell if he has to, but he _will_ find Dick.

And then he's gonna punch him for putting him in this situation in the first place.

The twentieth floor is, it turns out, a penthouse apartment, and requires an extra special card to access. Jason bypasses it almost as easily as he bypassed the other safeguards, and heads up to the top floor.

When the doors slide open, Dick is standing there to greet him.

He's smiling, a warm and welcoming thing, but there's something _distant_ about his expression that Jason doesn't like, that seems like the kind of look you'd give an acquaintance you don't care one way or another about. Dick has never looked at him like that, and it's unsettling.

Even more unsettling is the way Dick is dressed. He's in a black three-piece suit with a matching black tie and a dark red button-down underneath. His hair is perfectly styled, his teeth shining white.

He looks very, _very_ good. But considering the situation they've currently found themselves in, Jason is extremely unsettled.

And it's made all the worse when Jason notices that Dick's blue eyes are _glowing._

"Hi, Jason," Dick greets warmly. "What are you doing here?"

Jason looks past Dick, scanning for the presence of anyone else, but the place looks empty. The place looks extremely _expensive,_ too, all clean white lines and shining glass. Like a place Bruce would be comfortable living.

"I came to get you," Jason says slowly, looking back to the older man. Meeting those eyes is a challenge, his skin crawling at the unnatural blue. Dick's eyes have always been beautiful, bright like the sky the man loves to fly through so much, but now they don't even look human. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Dick parrots, still smiling. "I don't know, I guess I—" He cuts off suddenly, cocking his head, gaze going distant for a moment before locking back onto Jason's face. "I'm supposed to invite you in! Are you hungry? There's food, if you like. I've already eaten but she's at the dining room table, says you're welcome to join her."

Yeah, there is not a single thing Jason likes about this. Someone's done something to Dick, some kind of mind control, maybe, and it's probably whoever that _'she'_ Dick mentioned is. That spells very bad things; when dealing with a mind controller there are precautions to take, but since Jason has absolutely no idea who he's dealing with or why they set their sights on Dick, he's really at a disadvantage.

"Sure," Jason says carefully. "I could eat."

Dick smiles brightly. "Great!"

Then he turns on his heels and strides off down the hall, head raised confidentially, completely unselfconscious.

Jason follows more cautiously, drawing his gun as he goes. He doesn't see anyone else as they move through the penthouse, just more of the same uber-expensive décor.

Eventually they enter a dining room, one wall completely dominated by glass and looking out over Bludhaven. From this high up and at night, Blud actually looks rather pretty.

Sitting at the head of the long table is a beautiful woman with black hair and sun-kissed skin. She's wearing an elegant silk gown the exact same shade as Dick's shirt, and she smiles when she sees them.

"Ah, Richard, thank you for fetching him," she says as Dick moves immediately over to her side. She places a hand over Dick's heart and the man leans into the touch, making Jason scowl under his helmet. This is ridiculous, a parody of Dick's love of touch, his kind smiles for those he cares about. Whoever this woman is, she's perverting something she has no right to even be _near,_ let alone _touch._

The woman drops her hand and turns to look at Jason across the length of the table, and Dick immediately moves to stand just behind her right shoulder, body shifting into parade rest. Jason's lips curl back from his teeth.

"Hello, Red Hood," the woman greets, sharp blue eyes looking him up and down. Her nose wrinkles briefly before smoothing out. "It is nice to meet you."

"Can't say the same," Jason says gruffly. "What did you do to him?" And Jason doesn't know if the woman knows Dick is Nightwing or not. Most likely, but until he's positive he can't say anything to give it away.

"To Richard?" the woman clarifies, and then waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry about him, we have things to talk about. Why don't you sit?"

Jason doesn't move. The woman's smile cools slightly, and she flicks her fingers. Suddenly the chair at the end of the table pushes back, far enough for Jason to sit.

Well, shit. He really _hates_ fighting metas.

"Sit," the woman commands.

The air seems to thicken around Jason, hot like humidity, but he doesn't move.

The woman doesn't look surprised by his lack of action, but she _does_ look unhappy. Jason takes a certain amount of pleasure from it.

"I truly do hate your kind," the woman tells him. She lifts the glass of wine in front of her and takes a delicate sip, eyes still fixed on Jason. "You all _reek_ of the unnatural, and carry power you do not deserve in your auras. You should not be able to resist me, and yet you do. I should put you down for that fact alone."

Jason barely has time to digest all of that before the woman is continuing with, _"Sit,_ Jason, so that we can talk." Great, she knows his name. Did she already know it, or did Dick tell her while under her control? "I can resort to threats, if you like, but I'd rather leave that unpleasantness out of this."

Her head tilts ever so slightly in Dick's direction, letting Jason know exactly whom she's planning on threatening if he doesn't play along.

With great reluctance, Jason sits down.

The woman smiles at him. "Very good. Richard, darling, would you bring him a glass of wine?"

"Of course," Dick says, already in motion. He grabs the open bottle from where it sits and picks up at extra glass, carrying them as he walks down the table. Jason eyes him, hating this more than he ever thought he could hate something. Dick shouldn't be _used_ like this, like he's a puppet, only an extension of this woman's will. Dick is motion and life incarnate; he should never be contained.

"Dick," Jason says quietly as the older man pours out a glass of wine for him. "You gotta snap out of this."

Dick sends him an amused smile and then places the glass in front of Jason. "Enjoy," he says, completely ignoring Jason's words, and then heads right back to his place by the woman.

Jason wants to put a bullet between her eyes for the way she looks at Dick, like he's a prized pet, her to play with and command and _own._

"You said you wanted to talk," Jason snaps. "So talk. What do you want?"

"To live," the woman says simply. Jason narrows his eyes. "That's what we all want, isn't it? To simply live and live well?"

"Sure," Jason says flatly. "The American dream. But I'm talking rather _specifically._ What do you want with me and Dick?"

"Oh, I already have what I want from Richard, and he's doing brilliantly, better than I could've ever dreamed. _You,_ however..." She tilts her head thoughtfully, a smile dancing on her lips. "Well I have a couple thoughts about you."

Jason's eyes flick to Dick again. What is it that she wants from him? Just a loyal servant? That doesn't feel like it fits. And the timing of all this—

"You're the one who's been killing all those people," Jason decides, gaze shifting back to the woman. "Why?"

"Death was not the intention," the woman says dismissively. "They simply couldn't handle the influx of power running through them. A shame, of course, to watch them wither away the way they did, especially since I went through all the trouble of selecting the best I could find."

"The best in what way?" Jason asks immediately. Dick is the best at quite a lot; maybe that's why she took him?

"Physically, mentally," the woman tells him. "Those who have shown themselves to be superior. Those who would most likely hold up under my power." She sighs, and if Jason didn't know better, he'd say she sounded genuinely sad. "But they all wither sooner or later. Maya lasted the longest, but she, too, couldn't handle it."

Maya Gilmore, thirty-two years old, killed in Gotham nine days ago. She ran 5Ks in her free time, and had just earned her master's degree in accounting. Survived by her husband and two daughters.

"And what is the _point?"_ Jason snaps. "These people are dying because you say they can't handle your power, okay, well why the _fuck_ are you putting your power into them anyway?"

The woman takes a sip of her wine, humming with pleasure. "I am very, _very_ old, Jason," she says. "And I've reached a point in my life where my magic is more... _volatile_ than I would like. Storing it all within myself is beginning to kill me. But I've found that if I store some of it in another vessel, it does me no harm."

"But it sure does you _vessels_ harm," Jason says coldly.

The woman sighs again, shaking her head like Jason is an argumentative child. "Again, not the intent. Well, it would always kill them eventually of course, you humans aren't built to hold the kind of power I wield, but I truly didn't want for them to die as quickly as they did. I overestimated their strength, both physically and mentally. Strength of mind—of _soul_ —is just as important as strength of body, if not more so."

"And Dick?" Jason demands.

The woman smiles knowingly. "He looks wonderful, doesn't he?"

Yes, he does. He looks beautiful, stunning. He looks like nothing in the world could ever touch him, like the entire city could explode and he would still be left standing amongst the ashes.

"He's been doing brilliantly," the woman tells him, smiling briefly over her shoulder at Dick before focusing back on Jason. "You heroes, I can't imagine why I didn't think of seeking you out sooner. It's been more than twelve hours and he still shows no signs of any form of decay or exhaustion. My energy is flowing through him and he's _perfect._ And once I removed all those pesky negative emotions and memories he completely accepted his new place."

Jason's shoulders tense. "You removed _what?"_

"Hm? Oh, well, yes. Richard just had so many bad things in his head, it was making it incredibly difficult for him to become one with my energy so they simply had to go. Doesn't he seem happier now?" She lifts her wineglass and smirks at him over the rim of it. "The first thing I got rid of was those painful unrequited feelings for _you."_

Jason jolts like an electric current has been run through him. His breath has lodged in his throat. Unrequited feelings? For _Jason?_ Dick has _feelings_ for him?

Had. _Had_ feelings for him, because this woman got rid of them.

Jason's eyes cut over to Dick. "They weren't unrequited," he says hoarsely.

Dick's expression doesn't shift, but the woman laughs. "Oh, _I_ know that," she says. "Your stench was all over him; the only way that would happen so strongly is if you were _really_ invested in staying close to him. But Richard was absolutely positive there was no way you would ever love him the way he loves you, or that even if you did he would only poison you."

Wow, what a pair they are. Jason desperately in love with Dick for years and so afraid of tainting him. Dick in love with him for who knows long and worried that he'd _poison_ him, like Dick Grayson could ever be considered poison.

"Don't worry," the woman says. While it's clear she's making an effort to sound comforting, it really just sounds _mocking._ "He's happy now! No more pining, no more memory of watching his parents die or being raped—" _Jason can't breathe, he can't breathe,_ "—or losing his child. Richard is simply _content_ now. Would you begrudge him that?"

Jason would trade the entire _universe_ if it meant Dick could be content with life. He knows how much Dick has gone through, how much pain his life has brought. If Jason could give him peace, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

But this isn't real. This is a psychotic, ancient sorceress who is manipulating Dick's mind with the intent of using him to make her life easier, something that will slowly but surely kill him. This is not contentment. This is _wrong._

"You said you wanted something from me," Jason says quietly. He can't look away from Dick, those unnatural eyes, that beautiful smile, how handsome he looks in that suit. Jason is going to get him out of here. He _has_ to get him out of here. This is no other option.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose I do."

She gets to her feet and steps away from her chair. When she walks by Dick she smiles at him and strokes a hand down his chest, lingering for a moment on the edge of where his stomach meets his waist before drawing away as she heads towards Jason.

Jason leans back in his chair, eyeing her warily as she perches on the edge of the table beside him. This close, she looks almost otherworldly. There's a not-quite-human feel to her face that Jason can't identify, but it makes his skin crawl, makes him want to run. She's absolutely gorgeous, and yet this close there's something _off_ about how pretty she is.

"Jason," she says, smooth voice rolling around his name, a smile playing at her lips. "Your existence _repels_ me."

Jason blinks at her, the rude words coming out in such a polite tone.

"Well that's nice," he says. "Because I'm rather repelled by you, too. It's the whole _evil murderer_ thing; doesn't really do it for me."

She smirks. "It's all that _Lazarus_ around you," she muses. When she reaches out, hand heading towards his helmet, Jason catches her wrist, stopping her. He hates that it feels like she _lets_ him do it.

"What about it?" Jason snaps.

"I want it," the woman says, tone harsh for the first time.

Jason blinks again. Then he laughs.

"You _want it?"_ he says incredulously. "Sorry, gorgeous, but it's not like I have access to a Lazarus Pit."

"No, you misunderstand," she says. "I don't want a Lazarus Pit, they're disgusting and a perversion of the forces of nature. _You_ are a perversion for having been risen with it."

"Charmer," Jason drawls.

"What I _want,"_ she continues, "is to suck all that Lazarus energy right out of you and get rid of it. Your existence is a constant nuisance, you and everyone like you. It is a constant _drain_ on the magic energy of the universe, like a gnat always buzzing in my ear, and now that I have one of you right in front of me, I want it _gone."_

Jason has many, _many_ questions. A drain on the magic energy of the universe? Jason didn't think that a) was a thing and b) would have anything to do with _him._ Yeah, Talia used the Pit to put him back together, but that was a one-and-done. He doesn't have anything to do with the _magic of the universe._ He's just Jason.

And if there _is_ "Lazarus energy" inside of him, energy that makes him a _perversion,_ then would removing it...reverse the effects of the Pit? Would it put him back to that brain dead _thing_ he was?

He can practically feel the dirt under his fingernails.

"If you want it so bad why don't you just take it?" Jason sneers.

The woman looks down her nose at him. "That's not how these things work. Richard?"

Dick is instantly by her side. He doesn't flinch when the woman forms a dagger out of nothing and holds it against his throat. Jason doesn't understand how things have gone sideways so quickly.

"I need your permission to remove something so large from you," she says pleasantly, as if she isn't holding a weapon to someone he loves. "Magic is so testy, I'd rather not piss it off if I can avoid it."

"Isn't he your perfect vessel?" Jason spits. "Are you really gonna risk killing someone who's holding up to your _power_ just to get rid of _some_ Lazarus shit?"

"Oh, I'd never kill Richard!" the woman exclaims. "You're right, he's too rare, too perfect for me to do so. I'm going to keep him for as long as he lasts, and then I'll miss him when he finally withers away. No, I won't _kill_ him, but you should know better than most that there are so many thing worse than death, Jason Todd."

Jason does know that. He knows that very well.

He looks over at Dick.

He'd trade the entire universe.

"A deal, then," Jason says determinedly, dragging his gaze back to the woman. "But not just for some _you won't torture him_ bullshit, no I want a deal for Dick's freedom. You take whatever shit you want from me, but you leave him alone."

The woman smiles at him, a peculiar look tilting her features. "But he's mine now. He's perfect. He'll live for a while."

 _He's not_ yours, Jason thinks furiously. _And he'll live for many more years if I have anything to say about it._

"I won't give permission for anything less than his complete freedom," Jason says firmly. He doesn't know whether or not he's bluffing; if she starts torturing Dick right now, right in front of him, will he really be able to hold out?

He'll have to; if her taking this Lazarus shit from him _does_ mean that the effects are going to be reversed, then he's damn well going to get his money's worth.

The woman leans back, regarding him thoughtfully. Her dagger digs further into Dick's skin, making the man tilt his head up further, still with that kind, polite smile fixed to his lips. Jason doesn't flinch.

"Alright," the woman says eventually, and Jason doesn't allow himself to feel relieved, not yet. "If you give permission for me to remove any mystical or magical influence currently residing inside of you, no matter the consequence that might have on yourself, then I will release Richard."

"And return his memories and emotions," Jason corrects.

She offers him a salacious smile. "Are you sure you don't want me to _add_ anything? If you survive this, I could make it so that Richard would live to please you."

Revulsion tightens Jason's gut.

"No," he says coldly. "Put him back exactly as he was."

The woman smirks. "Then I suppose we have a deal."

She holds out a dainty, well-manicured hand for him to shake, and Jason takes it, jaw clenching. Pinpricks shoot up his arm.

_Forehand, or backhand?_

Jason holds onto consciousness long enough to see the unnatural glow fade from Dick's eyes and the horror that then crawls over the man's expression, and then everything goes black.

* * *

He finds him on the roof, sitting on the ledge.

It's been eight days since that whole mess with the sorceress, since Jason woke up in the batcave to discover that Dick had activated Jason's distress beacon to get some help, and that the both of them did, in fact, survive.

He really hadn't been sure that would happen. Dick living? Absolutely, that was the whole point. But him?

His scars are gone. All of them, every single scar he's gotten in his life, all the way back to the small one on the side of his palm where two-year-old him attempted to climb on the kitchen counter in order to reach snacks and instead broke a glass and cut his hand.

The autopsy scar is gone. For the past seven years Jason has carried that with him, a sign of what happened to him, what he's been through. For _seven years_ he has woken up with the sight of the Y on his chest, and now it's just...gone, like it never existed.

Jason can admit that when he realized that, he got a little choked up.

None of them can figure out why all his scars have vanished. Considering the Lazarus Pit itself didn't get rid of any of them, some batshit magic lady removing the "Lazarus energy" shouldn't have had any impact on his scars, either.

Bruce has no answers for him, and Jason can see not knowing bugs the other man, too. Jason's been considering tracking Talia down, seeing if she would have any idea about how this works. It's a long shot, probably, but Jason really wants to know.

The scars aren't the only thing gone. The rage is gone, too. The green that creeps into his vision when shit really goes bad, the fury that threatens to take him over, the Pit madness that always exists at the back of his mind—it's gone. With it, it seems to have taken Jason's ability to feel much of anything angry or irritated, enough so that he didn't even have it in him to get annoyed with Bruce for trying to keep him at the batcave for the foreseeable future.

Bruce theorizes that his natural emotions will come back, that his brain's just a little fucked up by the sudden shift. Jason believes him, if only because today—eight days after it all happened—he stubbed his on the edge of his couch and felt a surge of irritation for the inanimate object.

It was gone as quickly as it came, but it was there. So he's not too worried about that aspect of things.

What he is worried about is Dick.

Jason walks over to the ledge, looking out over the city. Dick must know he's there—Jason didn't muffle his footsteps _and_ he's within line of sight now—but he doesn't acknowledge his presence, feet kicking absently against the side of the building.

While Jason left the batcave and got out of all of Bruce's tests and hovering after two days, Dick stayed for a whole week. And from what Jason had observed in those two days—

Dick was quiet, withdrawn. Exhausted, enough that when he slept he slept for ten hours. Tense when people got too close to him. Wary when they so much as looked at him.

And then there was the energy still coming off of him, Bruce getting readings like there was still some level of magic trapped inside him. Shown physically by the slight shimmer in his eyes when you looked at him just right.

Whatever that sorceress did—well, both Jason and Dick have been changed by it.

Jason's tried to find the woman, tried to track her down. Bruce has, too, and everyone else. But it's like she's just vanished. Jason doesn't like how open-ended that feels, how it makes him feel like she could come back at any moment and do whatever the fuck she wants to them. To _Dick._

"Are you okay?" Jason asks after a long few minutes of silence.

"No, I'm not."

Jason's taken aback; not by the fact that Dick's not okay—of _course_ he's not okay after the shit he went through—but by how easily he admitted it. Dick is a Bat through and through when it comes to talking about actual issues, always quick to smile and obfuscate and distract from the problem. He's always been excellent at that. But now...

"Can I help?" Jason asks next.

Dick exhales slowly, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. "I," he says, "am simply very tired of people being able to do that to me."

Jason blinks. Very carefully he asks, "Do what?"

Dick doesn't respond for a long time, long enough that Jason doesn't think he's going to answer at all, but eventually the older man says, "Take advantage."

There are many ways that could be interpreted, but Jason understands instantly what Dick must mean, despite how he really wishes he didn't. He remembers what the woman said about Dick's bad memories, what she mentioned. He knows what Dick's been through, even though Dick never had the chance to decide to tell him himself.

"Did...Dick, did she...?"

"No," Dick says. Jason sees his lips twist up in a rueful smile. "No, she didn't assault me."

Jason hates that it sounds like there's a _'but'_ at the end of the words. He doesn't know how to help.

He moves over and lowers himself to sit beside Dick, leaving about a foot between them; close enough that Dick can reach out, if he wants to, but still giving him space.

"How are you doing?" Dick asks, glancing briefly over at him before back up to the sky. "You okay?"

Jason looks at him incredulously. "I'm _fine._ I'm not the one who was mind controlled."

Dick snorts, expression twisting somewhere between humor and bitterness. "That doesn't mean something didn't happen to you. That doesn't mean you don't have the right to not be okay right now, too."

Jason purses his lips and doesn't say anything.

They sit there in comfortable silence for a while, and Jason feels himself relaxing at the familiarity of it. Spending time with Dick has always been peaceful, soothing, even when they're not doing anything. Sometimes _especially_ when they're not doing anything. Jason probably feels more comfortable around Dick than around anyone else in the world.

"So," Dick says on a breath. "Not unrequited, huh?"

Jason looks over at him sharply. "You told Bruce you didn't remember anything from while you were under her control."

Dick hums and nods. "If Bruce knew I remembered, he'd want me to go through every moment, tell him every single thing that happened. He wouldn't accept _I don't want to tell you_ as an answer, not when it comes to The Work." The rueful smile returns. "Nothing I could tell him will help him catch her; I didn't witness anything that would help track her down. So what happened to me..." He shrugs a shoulder. "It happened to _me._ Bruce doesn't deserve to know."

Jason can't argue with that; he doesn't even know exactly what Dick experienced, but he does know he wouldn't want to share anything unnecessary with Bruce, either.

"Were you telling the truth?" Dick asks quietly.

"You don't want to be with me, Dick," Jason says. "I'm not...you deserve better, okay? Someone—not broken."

Dick laughs and looks over at him. Jason can't tell if the glimmer in his eyes is tears or the leftover magic.

"You say that like I'm not broken," he says. "Like I'm not—poison. Like I haven't..." He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. "I had to relive it all, you know. Every bad thing that's ever happened in my life, every negative emotion, all rushing back at once when she returned them. I know I'm—no good. I know I'm..."

Hearing Dick Grayson describe himself as _poison_ and _no good_ is almost incomprehensible.

Jason reaches out, putting his hand on the ledge halfway between them, palm up. Dick looks down at it for a long while before placing his hand over Jason's, gripping tightly.

"You're not poison," Jason says firmly.

"And you're not broken," Dick returns immediately.

Silence falls over them again. Dick squeezes his hand, and Jason squeezes back.

"What a pair we are, huh?" Dick mutters.

A rough chuckle escapes Jason's throat. "You could say that."

Dick exhales slowly. "So where do we go from here?"

Jason considers. He says, "Well I don't know about you, but I have quite a few choice words for _Ambrose."_ He looks over at Dick. "We could look for her together, if you want."

Dick meets his eyes and smiles, then shifts closer, resting his head on Jason's shoulder. "I could get behind that."

Jason slides his arm around Dick's back, holding him close. Up here, thirteen stories above the city Dick bleeds for night after night, Jason can't help but feel just a little bit hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed 😊💜


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